Tough
by iinvisible
Summary: "You really would have used that bottle, wouldn't you?" One-shot. Two-bit's POV. R


**AN: Well this idea came to me in the shower, I thought about how fun it might be if I wrote about the bottle situation in Two-bit's point-of-view. So here we go!**

It was around our lunch time when Steve and I meet Ponyboy out in the back parking lot of the school, we did this almost every day; Greasers rarely ate in the cafeteria because we were always blamed for the Socs messes.

Steve and I had only just left Pony sitting on the fender of Steve's car to go chat up a couple greasy girls that we knew worked there.

I was chattin' with a busty blonde broad when I saw the white Corvair making its way towards Pony. That was very strange, the store we were in was a grease hangout and Socs never left the school grounds at lunch time.

My blood went cold when the Corvair stopped in front of Steve's car and three Socs slowly got out, going to stand a few feet from Pony.

"Steve." He looked up from the giggling petite brunette he was trying to pull a move on, and looked toward me and my unusually serious tone. I could see the flames of anger in his eyes when he saw the three beefy Socs standing in front of Pony.

We walked quickly to the door but before we were all the way outside I barred the door with my arm, stopping Steve, and we could barely here the lead Soc saying, "You're the guy that killed Bob Sheldon."

We were too far away to catch the rest of what he was saying, but if the evil smirk upon his face was any indication, it was bad. Steve and I were just about to barge out there and run 'em off, when something very weird happened. Pony, with a face void of all emotion, threw his cigarette to the ground and broke the end of the Pepsi bottle he had been drinking from.

I'm sure Steve and I's faces had been priceless. Both of us looked at Pony with eyes wide and mouth agape as he held the bottle lose and away from himself, like I'd seen Timothy Shepard do a thousand times with his switch.

Pony looked as cool as a marble, face emotionless as he said loud and clear: "You get back in your car or you'll get split." His voice was hard and bit like a snake.

The Socs looked just as surprised as us; I even think one of them backed up. The rest of his little speech was deathly low, Steve and I had to walk forward a bit to catch it; "I mean it." He said as he hopped of the car, "I've had about all I can take from you guys." His voice shook a little.

Steve and I looked toward each other at the same time, our grim expressions matched perfectly. As we walked toward the little scene I guess the Socs knew Pony meant business, because they tucked tail and ran by the time we reached him.

"You really would have used that bottle, wouldn't you?" I said, "Steve and me were backing you, but I guess we didn't need to. You'd have really cut them up, huh?"

I grimaced a little when he sighed, "I guess so."

This wasn't right. Ponyboy had been so different since Johnny and Dallas died, he always seemed far away and emotionless, a shell of his former self.

"Ponyboy, listen, don't get tough. You're not like the rest of us and don't try to be…"

Pony couldn't get tough. He had to get somewhere in life, shoot, I knew he wasn't going to stay here, Johnny and Dally knew, the gang has always known. Ponyboy was too smart to stay here; he was going somewhere, going to make something great of himself.

But he couldn't do that if he got tough, tough kids thought all life held for them was right here in Tulsa. They were content with what they had, like Tim Shepard's gang and the Brumly boys. Pony would never be happy with this life style. He had hopes and dreams, or at least he used to.

I was broken out of my thoughts when Steve nudged me hard in my back and pointed at Pony. I looked over to see the kid on his hands and knees, picking up the glass from the bottle he had broken.

"What in the world are you doing?"

He paused for a second to look up at me, "Picking up the glass."

A huge grin broke out on my face and I almost let out a sigh of relief. "You little sonofagun."

He looked a little bit confused as he continued to pick up the glass, mumbling something about flat tires.

I turned toward Randle and grinned; he smirked back at me and I knew he was thinking the same thing, Ponyboy was still in there somewhere, there was still a part of him that cared, and that was all we needed to know.

**AN: Sorry it was so short. I wrote this at 2 am so I don't even know how much of it is grammatically correct. And Two-bit came out a little more serious than I intended. Oh well. REVIEWS ARE ****APPRECIATED.**


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